A Vow Written in Blood

I was born with a cursed tongue. The words I said came true. So as soon as I understood what that meant, I stopped speaking. For more than twenty years, I never said another word.

Then my six-year-old son knocked his pregnant aunt over by accident, and my husband sent him to a kennel.

My son had been bitten by a dog before. He was terrified of them. I begged. I went down on my knees and slammed my forehead against the floor until it was bleeding.

Connor Grant lifted his sister-in-law Camille Lane up off the ground, ran a tender hand over her swollen belly, and his voice came out cold.

"Don't think I can't see what's behind this. He did it because you put him up to it. You're a calculating little mute. He has your filthy blood in his veins. If we don't break him now, he grows up worthless."

"Send him somewhere that knows how to teach a child his place. Teach him how things rank in this house. And teach you, while we're at it. Don't touch what isn't yours."

By the time I found my son, he was in a cage with five vicious dogs. There was almost nothing left to hold.

I pieced the small body back together. I opened my mouth for the first time in over twenty years, and the first words I had spoken in my life were:

"Connor Grant. Blood for blood. I will see this house buried."

When I returned to the Grant estate, holding what remained of my son's body, Connor was in the garden, personally planting roses for Camille.

The roses were a deep, vivid red–lush and striking.

Just moments ago, his gaze toward Camille had been gentle. But the instant he saw me, it turned to disgust.

"Sienna, look at yourself. Have the Grants fallen so far that we can't even afford to feed you? You look like a beggar.

"Don't think this will make me pity you. You couldn't even raise your child properly, always scheming, always calculating. Can't you learn something from Camille for once?"

Camille glanced at me, a trace of satisfaction in her eyes, though her voice remained soft.

"Sienna is just worried about Jamie. If I had been more careful and kept my distance, he wouldn't have run into me. She must be blaming me. Connor, please… bring him back."

Connor frowned.

"That child was being ruined by this woman. Sending him to the training facility was to correct him. This has nothing to do with you."

Then he turned to me.

"Why are you still standing here? Go clean yourself up. Don't stand here and make an eyesore of yourself."

I stood there, holding my son's body, and looked at him.

I was born with a cursed tongue. Anything I said would come true, for reasons no one could explain.

From the moment I understood it, I stopped speaking.

For over twenty years, I had not said a single word.

I used to hate this curse. But now, I only wished that whatever I said next… would come true quickly, and bring them their punishment.

My voice was hoarse from disuse.

"Connor… you're right. The Grant family is about to go bankrupt."

Connor froze, staring at me as if seeing me for the first time.

"Sienna… you can speak?"

Then his expression twisted with anger.

"So this is how deep your scheming goes. You pretended to be mute for years just to gain my sympathy. To put on this act in my house.

"Why stop now? Let me make this clear–the heir to the Grant family will only ever be Camille's child. Don't even think about it. If you so much as touch her again, I won't show you any mercy."

He turned away.

"Just looking at you disgusts me. Throw away whatever you're holding and get out of my sight."

My hands trembled.

He was already gone–yet even in death, his own father still called him filth.

I thought of the way Jamie used to look at me every night before bed.

'Mom… if I'm good, will Dad read me a story? On my birthday, will Dad take me to the park? He promised me before.'

The pain tore through me.

My voice broke.

"Connor… this isn't filth. This is your son. Jamie is dead. He died exactly as you wanted."

Connor paused for a brief moment–then let out a cold laugh.

"Sienna, so this is why you finally decided to speak? To put on a performance in front of me?

"You're even cursing your own son now. You really are something."

He snatched the body from my arms, glanced at it carelessly, and his expression turned even colder.

"If you insist that this lump of flesh is Jamie, then let the dogs decide.

"Let's see if it's human… or just something you picked up from a butcher to stage your act."